


Human

by angstyelephant



Series: The Knights of Gotham [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, DC Comics References, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson Needs a Break, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Not beta read we die like robins, Other: See Story Notes, Past Rape/Non-con, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Stream of Consciousness, Tim Drake Has Mental Health Issues, literally everyone in the DC universe, lots of references to cross-dimensional/cross-iteration events, timeline? reboots? don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstyelephant/pseuds/angstyelephant
Summary: In which Dick Grayson wonders who he is.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: The Knights of Gotham [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/614036
Comments: 5
Kudos: 146
Collections: the batman family





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, after a four-year hiatus (not that anyone cares). I'd like to think my writing style and story building has improved in four years, since Home and The Song That Bleeds. Please say it has, I re-read TSTB and its n o t g o o d. 
> 
> This one is Dick Grayson simply reflecting on himself. It's not that dark or angsty, so I don't know how good it really is. It's a little all over the place because I wanted to show how Dick's thoughts are all-over-the-place (again, don't know how well that turned out). 
> 
> Events mentioned are not canon compliant and I completely ignore rebooting because that just pisses me off. Death is mentioned a lot, and rape/non-con is mentioned once (referring to the ambiguity in Nightwing #93). Events mentioned include Battle for the Cowl, Heroes in Crisis, Blackest Night, Death in the Family, Return of the Joker, Titans/Young Justice (Graduation Day), Infinite Crisis, Flashpoint (if you squint), The Killing Joke, Batman Inc. (New 52), and Death of the Family, among others probably. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated!

Dick Grayson was meant to be the perfect protege of Batman, the most experienced, the iconic leader of multiple off-shoot teams, the truly Golden Boy. Dick Grayson was always meant to be one of the very best, the perfect prototype of sidekicks and young heroes. He was meant to always support his teams, his family when evil took over. He was always meant to do this, do that, be this, represent that.

Was Dick Grayson ever meant to just be _human_?

It was after an especially taxing mission against the Joker, again. Bruce was on edge constantly because Jason kept popping up in the mission files, Tim and Babs were antsy because why wouldn’t they be, Cass was in Hong Kong, Steph was injured in a previous mission and out-of-commission, and Damian was off-world with the Titans. Even if he didn’t have to deal with the tiny brat getting on everyone’s bad side (which was the only side this mission, apparently), he still had to deal with Tim’s post-mission breakdown and confront Jason about his _you-tried-to-shoot-Joker-but-almost-killed-Bruce_ "coincidence" during the final battle. He still had to organize the mission files because Bruce was up in the Manor forcibly knocked out with three cracked ribs and a slipped disk. He needed to check in on the Titans off-world because Kori had complained about Damian again before they left and he needed to make sure they were all still in one piece. He had to get in touch with Cass as soon as he could because she left them a message about Shiva lurking around in Singapore and acting incredibly suspicious. He also needed to repair his escrima sticks again because the electric currents were malfunctioning and kept shocking him and go see Dr Thompson because he’s out of _I-keep-getting-electric-shocks-from-my-own-weapons_ pills.

He couldn’t catch a break.

He really needed a break, and a burger.

The perks of being one of Gotham’s heroes meant that he could just grapple through drive-thrus and get takeaway without anyone telling him “cars only.”

Sitting on the top of the observation deck of the Old Wayne Building, between Gargoyle no. 4 and no. 5, Dick took a bite of his burger.

The night was calm, as it should be after they somehow managed to cart Joker back to Arkham for however long he would sit there, and the wind was cool, as it should be since it was early-September. _Early-September. Damn it to hell, I need to call Gotham Academy and tell them Damian’s coming in late._ It seemed things kept getting added on his list before he could finish the other tasks.

Being the eldest wasn’t a blessing in any case. There was so much responsibility he had to take on. It was so much easier when he was just a sidekick or in the Teen Titans as a kid, but that was almost nine years ago and so much had changed since.

Dick dipped a fry in the ketchup balanced precariously on his knee.

He knew he was one of the few things keeping his family from tearing each other and themselves apart; Alfred could only do so much. He was the only one Jason actually contacted and spoke to face-to-face, the only one Tim opened up to, the only one Damian trusted, the only one Cass could relax with, the only one who cared enough for Steph to rant about her civilian life with, the only one Bruce fully trusted (even if the bastard didn’t say it). He was the only one the League knew could handle the Bats, the only one the Titans could come to for advice, the only one in constant contact with the Outsiders and the League Dark and even the Suicide Squad. He was the only hero in Bludhaven, for crying out loud.

Dick sipped on his soda.

Recently, however, it seemed his responsibilities were catching up to him. He felt like the mythic Prometheus, if Prometheus flipped off buildings in blue and black and carried the weight of Gotham’s heroes on his shoulders (which, by looking at Bruce when he weighed himself, was a lot). He was twenty-eight and so tired.

Everyone came to him with their problems, but no one bothered to listen to him. Sure, everyone knew his history: dead parents, dead birds, dead friends; but no one knew his feelings about his history.

No one was there to lend a shoulder when he wanted to cry about his parents’ death, about Jason and Damian and Donna and Wally and Bruce, about his rape. No one was there to listen when he wanted to explode over the events after Bruce’s faked death, about the Court of Owls and Slade and the League of Assassins constantly targeting his loved ones, about his failures during the fight against the Black Lanterns, about his actions every time the Multiverse decided to throw another universe into the mix. No one was there to support him when he was resentful over letting all his friends die, being complicit in Blockbuster’s death, his use of lethal force against his own grandfather (sure, he was a Talon, but still), being forced to join Spyral and pretend he was dead. No one was there to support him every time he wanted to kill the Joker because he hurt and killed his loved ones over and over again.

Dick wiped off some of the burger sauce on the side of his mouth.

He was always forced to be the _Goldie_ , the big brother, the trusted friend, the perfect Wayne boy, the best leader. He couldn’t just be little Dickie anymore, the kid that ran down the trapeze and landed in his father’s arms, the kid that exclusively spoke Romani and only knew how to swear and say thank you in English, the bright Robin in the worst suit. He couldn’t just be a normal big brother, the kind that only had to pick his little brothers up from school and take them to places, the kind that only had to make sure one of them didn’t kick another one during movie nights, the kind that didn’t have to bury his family members and watch them come back to life.

He was always in his own dark place when he had to pull Tim out of his breakdowns, wake Damian up when he was having nightmares, watch over Jason when he went off the rails. There was so much he had to do while pretending he, himself, was fine.

He couldn’t even go to the Sanctuary and take an actual breather, not since the place was shut down after that mess.

Dick dabbed at the ketchup on his suit, hoping it would get out before Alfred noticed (he always notices). He crumpled up the napkin in the burger wrapper, stuck it in the empty fries holder, and shoved it in the takeaway bag. He drank up the remainder of the soda before putting that in the bag, rolling down the top, and setting it next to him.

Dick closed his eyes and took a deep breath, smelling the pollution of the city and the salt of the bay. He counted to ten.

 _One…_ He knew he wasn’t alone.

 _Two…_ He knew he was still a hero.

 _Three…_ He knew he was messed up.

 _Four…_ He knew nothing was his fault.

 _Five…_ He knew he tried his damned hardest.

 _Six…_ He knew he couldn’t control fate.

 _Seven…_ He knew he had a lot of responsibility.

 _Eight…_ He knew he had just as many problems.

 _Nine…_ He knew who he wasn’t.

 _Ten…_ He knew who he was.

He was Richard Grayson, the flying first Robin. He knew he was Nightwing, the friend and trusted leader. He knew he was Batman, the feared protector of Gotham. He knew he was little Dickie, the little Romani trapeze artist. He knew he was Grayson and Goldie and Dick, the best brother and the glue that held his family together.

More importantly, he knew he was _human_.

Dick stood up, posed against the wind for a minute, and took a leap of faith. He made a gurgled sound and suddenly grappled back up to the observation deck, quickly grabbing the takeaway bag.

He wasn’t a litterer. He knew that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always appreciated!


End file.
